


Stay A Little Longer

by anastiel



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Bittersweet, Emotional, Kissing, M/M, non-au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:19:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25931227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anastiel/pseuds/anastiel
Summary: They’re nearing the end, halfway through the last week of filming and every day is someone’s last. Luckily, Misha will be on set until the end and he plans to make the most of his last few days.
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Misha Collins
Comments: 10
Kudos: 82





	Stay A Little Longer

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a fic about Jensen's sweatshirt and long hair from the J2 Creation Con Zoom last weekend and quickly diverged into something much more emotional. The title comes from the song "Stay A Little Longer" by The Brothers Osborne which I have attributed as a cockles song for YEARS.

It’s not often Jensen wraps up on set before Misha, today however is one of those days. 

Shooting his coverage with Jared went long today, thanks to Jared’s antics as per usual. Even though it put them an hour over schedule, Misha didn’t mind. They’re nearing the end, halfway through the last week of filming and every day is someone’s last. Luckily, Misha will be on set until the end and he plans to make the most of his last few days.

He texts Jensen when he leaves set; rushing from his trailer to his car at the appearance of a sudden downpour. It’s the first heavy rainfall of September, coating the pavement, making it slick beneath his feet after a long dry spell. By the time he makes it to his car his collar is damp and sticky against the back of his neck and there’s a squish inside his shoes. Feels fitting somehow, the world mourning the end of the show along with them. 

He takes the long way back into the city, just to see it all; the lights illuminating the streets, twinkling like stars from the falling rain. Around him buildings rise up into the fog, windows going up as far as he can see. He takes a few corners on the way back to Jensen’s, purposefully driving past a few of their favorite places -- dark lit restaurants and bars, Bocci lights, and flickering candles holding so many memories in their shadows. 

Jensen’s building comes into view, tall, its windows spotted with lights looking shiny from the rain. An ache fills his chest, melancholy, as memories of the past few years flit behind his eyes. He’s going to miss this place; this city. He’ll be back but it won’t be the same.

Misha’s damp shoes squeak on the floor when he steps inside Jensen’s condo. He slips off his jacket onto the hook next to the door, shoes following, placing them neatly on the doormat. Stepping past the few taped up boxes near the front door, he heads down the hallway to find Jensen. 

A few more boxes are stacked next to the wall and from what Misha can tell Jensen is almost done packing, having had two weeks of quarantine to do nothing else but stay stuck inside his condo. Misha has yet to pack up his things still living in Jensen’s drawers. Even though he prepared for this, mentally at least, and it’s not the end of them together, it’s the end of this haven he’s come to call a second home. 

Oddly, the lights in the condo are off, except the bright flashes from the television in the living room. He spots Jensen immediately, curled up in the corner of the couch, silhouetted in the glow of the TV. His knees are brought up close to his chest and there’s a half-empty stein of beer in his hand resting on the edge of the couch. Sitting there, in one of Misha’s dark blue hoodies, he looks incredibly soft and warm. Misha wants to wrap him up in his arms and forget that the rest of the world exists for a little while. 

Jensen hasn’t seen or heard him yet, so Misha just looks at him. Outside, rain pings against the windows, sliding down the glass, creating rivulets, and blurring the surrounding skyscrapers into grey blobs. He’s home. 

“Hey,” Misha says, breaking the silence and announcing his presence. 

Jensen turns to look at him, face lighting up, moving slightly to sit his glass onto the coffee table. “Hey, what took you so long?” 

“I took the long way home, wanted to see a few things.” 

Misha crosses the distance between them. Once he’s close enough Jensen catches Misha’s fingers between his own and tugs him close until the edge of Jensen’s knee brushes Misha’s thigh.

Jensen doesn’t reply, but squeezes Misha’s fingers, and tilts his chin up until their gazes lock. There’s a soft smile on his face, mouth tipped up at the edges and Misha loses himself in Jensen’s eyes. 

“You’re wearing my sweatshirt,” Misha states. He reaches down and toys with the strings of the hoodie. 

“I missed you.” 

“You left set maybe an hour before me.” 

“Yeah, well...” Jensen’s eyes dart down and away from Misha’s. “I came home and looked at everything all packed up and got a little sad. This smells like you still and... helped me feel better.”

Something inside Misha breaks, all the emotion over the last week or so that had been building pours out. “Jensen.” 

Leaning down, Misha kisses him, slides a hand up into the longer strands of Jensen’s hair, and pulls him close as their lips slip together. Against Misha’s lips, Jensen makes a desperate noise in the back of this throat, free hand that’s not tangled with Misha’s grapples for his belt loops and tugs Misha down onto the couch next to him. 

In a hazy couple of seconds, Misha too occupied with sucking on Jensen’s bottom lip to pay attention to anything else, Jensen climbs right into Misha’s lap. He straddles Misha’s thighs, arms sliding up and around Misha’s neck, clasping his hands and practically melts right into Misha’s arms. 

It’s everything Misha had been wanting all evening. 

Eventually, Jensen pulls back, panting for air, looking dazed and high just from kissing. He’s intoxicating like this, lips swollen, pupils visibly dilated in the low light. 

“Do you want to talk?” Misha asks. He slides a hand up into Jensen’s hair, lazily playing with the new longer strands he loves so much. He’s more than grateful he got a chance to touch it, hair and makeup deciding Jensen’s new look can stay, calling it “Dean’s grieving hair.” 

Jensen shakes his head. “No, I just want to feel you, while I still have you here.” 

Their eyes meet and Misha feels the weight of the meaning behind Jensen’s words rock him to his core. He slips a palm up underneath the hem of Jensen’s borrowed sweatshirt, ghosting his fingertips up his stomach to his chest and back down. “Like this?”

Jensen's muscles tremble under Misha’s palm and he sucks in a shaky breath. “Yeah, like that.” 

Gripping the front of the sweatshirt with his fist, Misha drags Jensen back down until their lips meet. He gets both hands under the sweatshirt, desperate for more skin on skin contact, and runs his hands slowly up and down Jensen’s sides while they kiss. He’s so warm, like a space heater underneath the thick fabric, and keeps making pleased soft sighs when Misha does that thing with his tongue Jensen loves. 

For a moment, there’s nothing else in the world but them, the feel of Jensen’s mouth on his and the juxtaposed neediness and peace that comes whenever they’re together.

Minutes later, breaking for air, Misha drags his lips down Jensen’s jawline, kissing all the visible skin available to him. He wants to mark him up, leave purple bruises blooming all over his skin so everyone can see, but they have to film, so he kisses instead. He soothes his tongue over Jensen’s skin, kissing the notch between the base of his ear and jaw, then down his neck, desperate to have whatever he’s allowed.

When it gets to be too much and the realization of their inevitable separation coming in several days threatens to overwhelm him, Misha wraps his arms around Jensen’s waist, buries his face in the crook of Jensen’s neck and breathes him in. He feels Jensen kiss the top of his head, and his fingers stroke the hair at the back of Misha’s neck.

“We’ll be okay,” Jensen whispers. “It’s going to be hard, but we’ll make it work.” 

Misha nods against Jensen’s neck and leaves a butterfly soft kiss on his fluttering pulse point. “We will.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/anastiels)!


End file.
